Live To Tell The Tale: Rewrite
by LavenderGale
Summary: Haymitch's experience in the quarter Quelle.
1. Chapter 1

Why am I writing this?

I've been asking myself this question over and over again and I still don't know the answer.

I've never wanted to talk about the games, let alone write about them. So how I got myself roped into writing this I sure as hell don't know.

You've probably heard the expression "Live to tell the tale".

Well I lived so here's my story.

I should probably warn you, I'm not much of a writer.

I'm not really much of an anything if you want to be brutally honest.

But there is one thing I'm good at and that puts me at an advantage over most folks.

My name is Haymitch Abernathy and I am a survivor.

I remember the day of the reaping. All the usual B.S. (Can I even write that? Well guess I'll find out.)

A bunch of puffed up idiots trying to pretend they wanted to be some where they didn't trying to entertain the people of a district who knew damn well what was coming and it wasn't worth celebrating.

That about sums up the reaping: A reverse lottery. One that no one wants to win.

"Ladies first!"

I roll my eyes as the lady from the capitol trills her usual sappy lines. She looks like some ridiculous cake decoration in all her fancy clothes and make up. I wonder what she really looks like under it all. I wonder if even she can remember.

The sun is making the wool collar of my donated suit a torture device. I scratch the back of my neck and hope they won't think I'm volunteering for tribute. I smile at the idea.

"Masey-Lee Donner!"

My head snaps up. I'd almost forgotten where I was. My eyes scan the crowd and I see her.

She's from one of those merchant families, the kind that don't hang around with people from the seam, people like me. Her wheat colored hair is arranged in an intricate braid and her linen dress rustles as she stalks toward the stage.

I shake my head and look away. Then the screaming starts.

I look over. A girl that might have been Masy-Lee if her hair wasn't quite so curly or her face so round. She runs after her shrieking in protest. "Not my sister!" Then I remember:

Maisy-Lee has a twin.

Another girl, also with Merchant Blond hair grabs the shrieking girl and drags her back before the peace keepers can do it. The Peace Keepers would not have been so kind. My eyes turn to Masy-Lee. She stares ahead hard and unblinking. It isn't until she turns in my direction I see the tears. Her eyes are dark, angry. The look on her face says it all:

"I will make you pay."

I like this girl.

I pity the poor person that has to fight her.

Now, it's the men's turn.

"Haymitch Abernathy!"

I smile bitterly as I approach the stage.

Just my luck.

The leaving isn't hard for me.

No one cares about me and whoever I'd cared about is gone.

All I feel is a numb sense of resolution. So this is how it's going to be. Fine.

Then I seei them, Maisie-Lee and her sister in each other's arms.

Maisie-Lee stoic as ever is holding her sister as she sobs into her chest. I just barely hear her whisper:

"I'll be back, I promise. I have to go, but I'll be back. Every things going to be all right, sweet heart."

It's the "Sweet Heart" that gets me. So she had a heart after all.

Slowly it washes over me. We all have hearts. Hearts and lives we want to keep.

I feel anger rising deep within me. It is the first thing I have felt in a long time and I embrace it.

I hate the Capitol.

I hate The Games.

But most of all I hate the fact that I may have to kill Masey-Lee Donner.

I look over and her eyes meet mine. They are hard and dark.

I will make them pay.

Training.

There is something wrong with teaching a group of people to kill. Whether for war, for sport or for protection.

The fact that it is each other they are being trained to kill makes it that much more twisted.

The fact that they're children makes it just plain evil.

For me, fighting has always been easy. I have never been overly large or strong. But I'm tough, stubborn. Once I'm involved in something I don't back down until it's done.

Fear was never an option for me. In order to be afraid you have to have something you're afraid to lose.

I literally had nothing to lose. That's what made me so lethal.

I catch on quickly to the various styles of fighting we are taught. My weapon of choice has always been a knife. In a skilled hand it's quick, it's precise and it's personal.

To kill with a knife you have to get close. You have to look your victim right in the eye. It seems only fair.

Masie-Lee doesn't take to things quite as quickly as I do.

She is not from my world. Her hands aren't built for cutting the throats of snared rabbits or fighting for food. She is tough in her own way, but the games are tougher.

One day, I am in the training room trying unsuccessfully to learn how to tie knots. It is the only station open and coincidentally the thing I am worst at. I am in the process of teaching some of the younger tributes words they hopefully have never heard before, when I hear someone scream.

This is not an unusual occurrence. Screams were common in the training room. Screams of frustration, pain and anger rang out at regular intervals. But this scream is different…this one belongs to Masie-Lee.

I look over and see Masey-Lee picking herself up off the floor. Her nose is dripping blood, she wipes it away. Her opponent is a boy twice her size. It is obvious that he is a "Career tribute" a tribute trained in the Capitol to fight in the games from birth. They almost always win.

As I watch he pushes her and she falls back painfully. I can hear him laughing at her.

Get up.

I think.

Get up and show him.

She does, kicking and punching but soon he has her pinned beneath him. She squirms helplessly. Then I hear him whisper:

"This is how it's going to be in the arena Honey. Just you and me, this is how I'm gonna do it. Slowly…painfully and I'm gonna make your sister watch."

" YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

My eyes are almost as wide as the boy tribute as Masie-Lee slams both her hands, bottom first into his face. He rears back blood pouring from his nose.

Masie-Lee doesn't pause, she sails into him knocking him flat and pummeling him with her little white hands.

"How's it feel?" she shrieks, "How's it feel?" There is now a circle of chanting tributes surrounding them. It is apparent the boy tribute was not well liked. Our mentor comes and rips Masie-Lee off of the other tribute who is sitting up looking shocked. As she catches my eye I smile and give a small thumbs up. The half-smile she gives me lets me know she is as glad as I am.

I cannot sleep in the Capitol. Everything about it is unnatural.

There are no stars, no moon light. Only the glare of artificial lighting.

The sounds of natural life are nonexistent here.

Of course I could have them if I wanted them. You can have anything you want in the Capitol. It won't be real, but it will be yours.

Instead of sleeping I take to wandering the halls of our compound aimlessly searching for something that never existed. I am doing this when I hear the crying.

It isn't so much crying as the sound of someone trying hard not to be heard crying. Muffled sobs and gasps followed by sounds I've heard kittens make. I move to walk away, but suddenly the door opens and Masie-Lee comes out. Her long hair is loose and her eyes are red and swollen. She is wearing one of the silk robes the Capitol gives us and when she sees me she gathers it around her tighter.

"Haymitch?"

I turn to her slowly. "Hey."

Her voice is a hiss. "What are you doing here? This is the girl's floor!"

I rub the back of my neck embarrassed. They could have put up a sign, really.

"Is it? Sorry about that. I'll just.."

But I can feel her eyes on me. Her voice is softer when she speaks.

"Why are you awake?"

"I can't sleep here..Everything's just too…"

"Fake?"

I smile "Nailed it."

I see her bottom lip begin to tremble and I am afraid she is going to start crying again.

"Look," I say, "If it helps at all, I hate them too."

She looks around wide eyed. "Cameras Haymitch." She hisses.

"I don't care. Let them hear. What they did to you and your sister it was…"

Masie-Lee grabs my shoulders. Her tone is feral, "Shut…up. You can go ahead and get your family killed if you want but leave mine out of it!"

I back off. "Sorry," I say, "I suppose I don't have to worry about it. Mine are already dead."

She blinks, then her face goes blank. "That's too bad Haymitch."

I shrug because I don't know what else to say. She turns to the door, "Good Night, Haymitch."

"Good night ."

A second or two later I call after her. "I wish things were different. I think we could have been friends."

She snorts dismissively "I don't suppose you want an ally?"

Suddenly I am terrified. To care for her, to care for anyone would be a disaster.

"I don't need Allies." I say without looking at her, "I'm fine on my own."

"Oh really?"

"Really. Anyone else will just slow me down…besides it only makes it more difficult in the end."

A little half smile from MasyLee. She purses her lips. "I see. Well if you change your mind.."

"I won't."

"Oh really? I bet you change your mind the minute you're in the Arena."

I am getting angry now and she knows it.

"Not going to happen."

"Fine," She sighs turning toward the door way "Have it your own way." But as I am walking away I hear her call my name.

I turn slowly. "Yeah?"

" You had better hope your suit isn't white."

She giggles and the door closes. I shake my head and walk on.


	2. Let The Games Begin

I never dreamed much before The Games. At night there was only darkness and peace.

I dream the night before The Games though.

At first the dream is pleasant. I am walking in a meadow and the sun is shining. The scent of wild flowers is all around me and in the distance I see trees.

Then, in an instant it changes. The grass beneath my feet becomes speckled with blood, I can feel it sticky and hot on my skin. The smell of it is all around me, replacing the smell of the flowers.

I can feel hunger and thirst dragging me down.

Then. It happens.

Someone grabs me from behind.

We struggle, but I am stronger and soon I have my opponent pinned. Before my eyes have time to focus, I drive my knife deep into my opponents neck.

Blood flows and I close my eyes. When I open them again, I see my opponents face for the first time.

I stumble back, dropping my knife as my hands go numb from shock.

There before me is Maisie-Lee Donner.

I scream so loud people are pounding on my door before my head clears. I shout at them to go away. That I'm all right.

But I'm not. It has nearly been a week since the reaping and I haven't felt a shred of fear.

But I did now. All because of her.

What was it about Maisie-Lee Donner that got to me so much? Whatever it was it had to stop.

I was a tribute. Tributes don't make friends. Tributes don't form attachments. Tributes don't feel.

At least not if they want to stay alive.

I wish I'd looked away at the reaping. That I'd never seen her face or heard her voice.

But I had.

I stand ambling toward the shower. I fight with the various dials and knobs and finally the water is cool enough not to scald me. With any luck, I could get out of this not smelling like Roses or Lemons or whatever else they smelled like around here.

As I wash I feel my mind becoming more settled, more focused. By the time I am dry and dressed I feel more like myself. Numb.

I sleep walk through my last hours of normal life. My mentor's advice is a blur of sound. There is no meaning behind them, no heart. He hates me. He doesn't care whether I live or die and I can't say I blame him. I have given him no reason to feel otherwise.

I was young. I was arrogant. I thought I knew it all

I was wrong.

The Jump suit is black, not white. I try not to think about Maisie-Lee's parting shot, but still I chuckle to myself. My mentor is not amused.

"You think this is funny?"

"Sorry."

He shakes his head. "You are one strange individual Haymitch. Still, I may not be from your district but I'd want you on my side any day."

My smile is humorless.

"Thanks." I say, " You're good. I almost believed you meant it."

His face falls. I turn and walk into the transport tube. I hear the door close with a hiss.

Here we go.

Fortunately I don't have much time to think about what is going to happen. It seems one minute I am in the dark and then suddenly light explodes around me and my vision goes white as my eyes try to adjust. Then I see the Arena for the first time.

It is the last thing I expected.

A wide swath of green meadow lies before me. Wild flowers bloom among the grass like little jewels and just beyond the border of woodland I can see mountains.

It is beautiful. It terrifies me. Something this beautiful is not to be trusted. This is too easy.

I hear the count down begin. I watch the numbers dwindle as a voice intones: "Three,Two, One.."

That's when one of the girls from district three panics and jumps forward. The ground explodes beneath her feet and she disappears in a cloud of debris. I allow myself a moment of shock…it is all I have.

Then the buzzer sounds.

"Let the games begin!"

I am half way to the cornucopia when I see the carnage that is going on in front of me. Bodies smashing together, weapons flashing, some already wet with blood. The sounds coming from the crowd of writhing bodies is horrifying. You can't find a more savage animal then a desperate human being.

I grit my teeth as I enter the edge of the crowd. I dodge blows, punch and kick at would be assassins. Not once did I think to draw my knife. Looking back I realize no one drew a weapon on me either. Perhaps I was not the only reluctant one. Finally I see what I'd been waiting for. A back pack discarded by one of the tributes directly in front of me. I grab it and run back using it as a shield against attack. Finally, I am free and I make a dash for the tree line. It isn't high ground, but the mountains are too far away and the trees provide cover. Soon I am deep within the shadowy canopy of trees. I sigh, still alive.

I allow myself a moment then to regroup. I rest on my heels as I explore the contents of the back pack. I take each object out and lay it at my feet: Some kind of thermal blanket,matches, rope and some kind of dehydrated meat. I replace the objects and put the pack on my back . I rise to my feet and begin to make my way through the woods. My knife at last is put to use, cutting a path for me through the dense under growth. The going is slow, around me lush bushes full of berries beckon to me and flowering bushes covered in butterflies dazzle my eyes. Again the word comes to me: Beautiful.

Something chatters in the brush nearby and I grab my knife just as a bushy, brown tail disappears into the brush. I shake my head, sheathing my knife.

Squirrel.

As I turn my head I see another squirrel standing on the path in front of me. It regards me interestedly it's tufted ears and nose twitching innocently.

" What are you looking at?" I grumble . Then another squirrel emerges from the undergrowth, followed by another and another. I turn to go back from where I came only to find a second group of squirrels blocking my way. Soon the trees around me are thick with furry brown bodies. I am aware of a sound like rocks rubbing together. It does not take me long to realize what the sound is. It is the sound of some twenty odd squirrels grinding their teeth.

" Get!" I shout, brandishing my knife, "Go on, get out of here!" The chattering grows louder as the circle of brown bodies closes in tighter. I run at the nearest group with a cry expecting them to run. They attack instead.

Before I can even lift my knife to defend myself my legs and chest are swarming with brown, furry bodies. I can feel the clawing of little nails and the gnawing of teeth as they seek to penetrate my jump suit. I free my knife and begin waving it around hoping it will meet with a target, aiming is impossible as the squirrels are now on my neck and face and one particularly fat one is covering my eyes. This may seem like a humorous image, but you have never had a fat squirrel attached to your face. Furry bodies are falling left and right now. Little shrieks fill the air as my blade hits again and again. The squirrels have broken through my jump suit and their chisel sharp teeth are now gnawing at my chest and legs. I smell blood and taste it and I know it isn't squirrel blood. After what feels like forever the squirrels give up and swarm off to find other prey.

I sink down to my knees as the sting of a million tiny bites and scratches fill me

_…__And the award for most humiliating death in the history of the Hunger Games goes to Haymitch Abernathy! _

I laugh then. It is forced and manic. I stop myself as soon as I start. I must not forget where I am. I am in arena, there is no laughter here. I rise, ignoring the pain of my injuries and continue on.

After I have been walking for what feels like hours I come across a clearing. Lush green grass covers it and it is bordered by berry bushes. The lush red fruit gleams seductively in the bright sunshine. I know better, besides food is not what I am after. My eyes turn to the spring that flows at the center of the meadow.

Water. Water is the center of life here at the games, so naturally the Games Keepers make it as hard to get to as possible. There is no mistake about it…this is a trap.

Even knowing this I do not turn away. This could be my last chance to get water for who knows how long? I study the scene before me.

I once heard a saying "Every time someone makes a better mouse trap. Someone comes along and makes a better mouse." I have to be that better mouse now, I have to think like a games keeper.

Slowly I made my way forward, my eyes were everywhere searching for danger and when none came I was even more unnerved. I crept along carefully until finally I reached the edge of the spring. I kneel down and I am just about to take a drink when I hear the bushes start to rustle. I bolt for the tree line and conceal myself in the underbrush. Another tribute, a girl, comes darting out of the bushes. She kneels before the brook and bends to the water. She no sooner has taken a sip then the screaming starts. She falls back clutching at her throat, her agonized screams now hoarse and smothered. I watch her helplessly as she writhes and claws at her throat trying to breath. Finally she goes still and then the cannon fires.

I fall back against a tree listening to my own labored breathing.

That could have been me. It would have been me if she had not come along.

I should be dead.

But I'm not.

I shake myself out of my stupor. I'm not dead, I escaped the trap and that's all that matters.

I hear the hum of the approaching hover craft and I run into the tree line. I am alive, that is all that matters.

But even as I run, I can still hear her screams.

I still can to this day. I think I always will.


End file.
